


Visual Memory

by anythingbutblue



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutblue/pseuds/anythingbutblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past is always flashing before Spike's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visual Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ocelot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocelot/gifts).



Shards fly as he crashes through the window. For a second he can see Vicious's face peering down, wearing a fierce knife-sharp smile.

His arms grab at the air uselessly. One is already dripping blood, pierced by glass.

It takes longer to fall than it does to realize that his past has finally caught up with him, that he's done paying lip service to death.

_Fuck_ , his brain offers. He can feel his pulse skyrocket like it never really has before, but there is no pre-death epiphany, no last-minute regret for the way he's lived his life, no point in shouting out last words.

His left eye sees fragments of glass sparkle like stars in the twilight sky above him. 

His right eye sees her.

*

Shaking, he cradled his side. Blood streamed down his face from his temple, running between his lips. 

He'd been told there were never more than four guards at the warehouse with Moretti, and from a distance he'd personally counted them at their posts. Two at the south exit, one east, and one patrolling the lot. The dozen armed guides inside meant the Tigers had been tipped off. He's good, but he couldn't shoot in twelve directions at once.

He could barely feel his arm, but somehow that seemed okay because he could feel his side, the wall of his chest, too much. He felt like a walking wound, his steps reduced to a shuffle.

_You're a stubborn showoff_ , he could hear Annie say, wherever she was.

Could be he is. Could be he's finally--

Finally turned into one of those guys who gets too cocky and gets blown away.

Could be this never would've happened if his partner wasn't on Titan.

Fuck.

His head swam. Somebody's drunken _shit, man, are you all right man?_ broke through his haze, but he trudged past. If he stopped he'd never start again. True north was Julia's apartment, and his feet were magnetic.

*

The first few times his eyes opened he saw Julia, _heard_ Julia. She hummed to herself when she moved around the apartment, roused him unintentionally while she changed his bandages. It was always the same song, low and sweet.

The fourth time he blinked himself awake to meet Annie's gaze. 

The concern that lined her face intensified for a moment but then started to melt away. "It's about time."

"Good--" He cleared his throat in vain. "Good to see you too, Annie."

She frowned. "That's all you have to say for yourself?"

A laugh caught in his throat. He coughed instead, every cell of his body screaming at the effort. "Sorry."

It was one word, rasped in pain, but she didn't give him the impression she'd needed to hear it. She rose from her chair. "Don't move around too much. I'll get you some water."

"Where's Julia?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes amused but not unkind. "Running errands. She's been with you nonstop for three days."

*

"It was a real nice wedding."

A small smile curved Julia's lips. "I've never heard anyone say that so unconvincingly."

Propped up by every pillow she had, he smiled back and shrugged helplessly. The pain had lessened over the week, but every movement still reminded him that he'd been chewed up and spat out by a dozen White Tigers. "Weddings aren't my thing. You know that." Everyone knew the best part of a wedding was a reception with an open bar. "You know what I remember about that night?"

"It can't be much. If you'd gotten shot that night you'd have bled tequila all over the floor."

Honesty almost came too easily, like it took so much effort to sit up without wincing that everything else had to slide by unchecked. "I didn't have enough to forget your dress."

It'd been a shade of blue-green that might as well have not even existed before she poured herself into it. It brought out her eyes, made her hair stand out like molten gold, and the neckline was just low enough to make him bury his nose in tequila every time she leaned forward.

He made her laugh, and she shook her head. "It was one of the most expensive things I've ever bought," she admitted.

"Well, it was worth the woolongs."

Julia didn't blush. She was capable of keeping her composure almost as well as Vicious, no doubt part of her appeal. Inside his head Annie's voice warned him not to get attached to waking up here in Julia's apartment, not to get used to Julia’s face greeting him every morning.

"Thank you," she said.

"I should probably be thanking _you_ ," he went on after a moment. "For helping me cheat death."

Looking down into her mug, she smiled again. "You didn't owe death anything. You don’t owe me anything either. I know you'd have done the same for me."

*

Even though Julia's apartment building was a hell of a lot nicer than his, the elevator was perpetually broken. He only had to go down one flight of stairs and not a fucking thing was wrong with his legs, but walking down those stairs with Annie on his right and Julia on his left got him winded.

It made him want to punch a wall.

Julia gave his arm a squeeze. "You're doing well."

It didn't feel like he was doing well.

"Right, Annie?" she went on.

"He is," Annie agreed firmly. "The doctor's dug so much metal out of him that he's a walking excavation site, but he's lucky. Not dead yet, despite his best efforts."

Annie's car was waiting just outside the entrance, pulled up as close as she could get it, and she left his side to open the passenger door for him. Shaking off help, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he got inside.

"How's that?" Annie asked, hovering.

"Great." It sucked. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the two women exchange a knowing look. "Let's get going."

Annie's grin was audible as she shut his door. "He's impatient, too."

As she walked around to the driver's side, he rolled down his window, looking at Julia. "I do owe you."

Her smile was indulgent; when she shook her head it was barely perceptible. "You can owe me dinner. When you can walk up my stairs pain-free."

Owing her dinner didn't do much to tip the scales. It seemed more like a reward: congratulations for surviving those injuries; you live to have another meal with Julia before Vicious gets back from Titan!

There was never any doubt that Vicious would get back. He'd never go down easily. To Spike's knowledge, Vicious had signed himself away for a year, and even though they'd spent the last eight years of their lives growing up together and training together under Mao's leadership, he wasn't in a hurry to see his best friend return.

*

All Hallows' Festival saw Tharsis City lit up with torches along the river and crowds of people in costume. He didn't dress up, but Julia did. When she arrived on the planet two years before she'd been surprised by just how much Mars loved Halloween, and she got into the spirit right away.

Each torch they passed on the way back to her apartment cast a flickering orange glow on Julia's face and made the silvery strands of fake spider web in her hair shine. 

"Did I mention you're looking good?" she asked.

"You're looking better." It brought a smile to his face, made him feel about ten times smoother than usual.

"I'm not the one who nearly got killed on the job." 

People had been assuming they were a couple all night, encouraging him to win her a prize in a game or for her to consider buying something for him, and there was no doubt in his mind that he could get used to it but that was always a dangerous line of thought. There was a reason he'd spent the first three months after her arrival doing his best to avoid spending time alone with her. All that was long over -- Vicious seemed to make sure of it -- but spending ten days in Julia's bed while she looked after him was a level of intimacy he had a hard time reconciling with their usual routine.

And if she hadn't known how he felt about her long before, nearly dying at her doorstep sent a loud message.

"Just as well. I can't recommend it."

She let out a short quiet laugh as they slowed down at the entrance to her building. "You're coming up, right? I have coffee, tea, and tequila. I could crack a bottle of merlot to celebrate your recovery," she offered in a tone meant for temptation. "It's from Venus."

He could only have said no if he'd really wanted to.

Back in the warmth of her apartment, he sat down on her couch, the ache in his side so much background noise. While she was in the kitchen pouring wine, he lit a cigarette and moved the ashtray on the coffee table closer.

"Here we go," she said when she came back in the room, holding out a glass for him and keeping the other for herself. When he'd taken his, she sat down beside him and raised her glass slightly. "To a full recovery."

He echoed her movement. "To friends who know first aid."

*

It was two weeks before he found himself sharing merlot with Julia again, this time in the clean white-and-black comfort of her kitchen.

"It's been seven months since Vicious left," Julia offered, resting her glass on the counter and pouring more wine into it.

He didn't know how to respond. _Time sure has flown? It feels like forever? Do you miss him?_ He settled for leaning an arm against her refrigerator door. "Have you heard from him lately?"

"Mao called me personally this afternoon to tell me Vicious had been in touch and asked him to give me his love. I guess that means everything's fine."

Give her his love. It seemed weird to him, even after watching them together and being the third wheel on more than one occasion. Vicious and Julia were obviously attracted to each other and he'd witnessed affection between them, but when he thought of things Vicious loved he never really thought of _people_. "Sucks that you don't get to talk to him personally."

She flattened her lips. "He warned me that contact would be extremely limited."

He barely knew more about Vicious's mission on Titan than she did. Mao picked his man wisely -- Vicious made a better soldier -- and that was that. It wasn't his problem. He'd hear more details when Vicious got back if Mao wanted him to hear those details.

"You used to try to make your contact with me extremely limited."

He almost choked on his wine, but after a second he let out a laugh "It wasn't personal."

The smile on her face said she knew better. "How was it not personal?"

"It wasn't," he insisted, knowing it was about as personal as it could get. The conversation was bound to happen eventually. He was probably lucky she never tried to get him to explain choosing her building as the perfect spot to bleed out.

"You _are_ a terrible liar," she said, like it was something she'd talked about before.

"Guilty as charged." He shrugged. Lying was never one of his strong suits. He took a fortifying breath and pushed himself away from the fridge. Draining his glass was the next step to making an exit, and even though it felt moronic to leave it felt just as foolish to stay. 

It took him off guard when Julia put her glass down and walked over to stand in front of him. It threw him even more when she rested a hand against the side of his face. It was the most intimate gesture she'd ever made to him, at least while he was conscious. "I'm not holding anything against you."

Half a dozen answers were on the tip of his tongue, but in the moment the only thing that made sense was leaning in to kiss her. He heard the tinkle of shattered glass against the floor, and he thought more than spoke a half-hearted apology against her lips.

*

Somewhere nearby a woman hums a familiar tune, low and sweet. For a few seconds it almost sounds perfect.

The Bebop's couch isn't the most comfortable at the best of times, and now it's even worse. He's stiff from his shoulders straight down to the base of his spine, and he's wrapped so tightly in bandages that he can barely move -- can barely _breathe_ \-- but he can open his eyes.

He opens one eye and sees a woman in profile, her hair falling like sunshine over her shoulders.

He opens the other eye, and she fades like a half-remembered dream.


End file.
